


Imprint

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: Glee
Genre: 3000-5000 Words, Blow Job, Car Sex, Community: kink_bingo, Hand Job, Kink, M/M, Pre-Series, Shower Sex, brands/branding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-17
Updated: 2009-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn learns that some marks are invisible but some don't have to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imprint

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-Series. Considerable thanks goes to [](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lunesque**](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/) and [](http://scheherezhad.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**scheherezhad**](http://scheherezhad.dreamwidth.org/) for being willing to beta for me and listening to me bitch, rant, and wail about this fic and then telling me how to make it better. I love them a crazy lot for it.
> 
> And here is [the brand, which is an adinkra symbol](http://lady-krysis.dreamwidth.org/166096.html?#cutid1).

When Finn comes to with light slaps and an insistent, "Finn. Dude, wake up," his chest hurting so badly that the white haze won't leave his vision, he can't remember why in the hell he said yes.

His eyes flutter open, and he blinks several times to clear his vision, Puck's face finally blurring into view. Finn groans and forcefully loosens the white-knuckled grip he has on the arms of the chair as he tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. He flexes his fingers and exhales a slow breath, glancing down at the design imprinted over his heart. The brand is just an angry red, raw wound, his skin crisp and black on the edges, and his face screws up at the smell--something like bacon. The symbol itself makes Finn think of a bleeding turtle, road kill mostly. Finn's stomach roils at the thought.

But when Puck, lips twitching into a half smile that Finn recognizes as relief, leans over to assess the symbol, and tells the brander, "Perfect," Finn remembers exactly why he'd said yes.

He forgets to ask what the symbol scarred into his chest stands for.

~*~

The next day on the practice field, Puck surprises Finn when he drapes an arm across Finn's shoulders and tells their team, "Our Finn isn't some karaoke loser."

Finn pulls away from Puck, from those words, from the team, and shakes his head at their cajoling. "Back off," he says, slapping away their hands.

"Dude, chill," Puck says from behind him, and Finn glances back, watches Puck step forward and yank up his shirt to reveal the square bandage over his own heart.

_"Just you," Puck had said. "Do it. For me."_

Puck rips off the bandage, but Finn is the one who winces, Finn is the one whose fingers curl into his palms to keep from reaching out to touch the raw wound of Puck's brand, to hide it perhaps. It looks like a nightmare, but Finn wants to press his fingers to it anyway, trace the shape of that symbol and tell Puck yes again, because in his own silent way, this _is_ Puck's yes, and the brands on their chests are their unvoiced us.

So Finn doesn't slap Puck away when his fingers curl under Finn's shirt and pull up. Finn's caught in Puck's stare, and he steels himself by holding his breath just before Puck tears off the gauze. The team whistles and cheers, makes off-handed remarks about getting their own, but Puck shoots them down with scathing retorts and friendly punches to the arms as he shoves the gauze back into Finn's hands.

In the locker room, Puck is Puck, as always, but Finn wants to think that maybe Puck is trying to make it up to him because sometimes, Finn wishes them together didn't mean these furtive glances, of holding back and keeping silent. Finn's thoughts stray to Quinn, who's a pretty good girlfriend, and he knows he should say no. The word hovers on his lips, but his body refuses it by firmly pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The shower tiles are cold against his back, and he chokes on a moan when Puck drops his head to suck hard on Finn's neck.

"You okay?" Puck asks, smoothing out the tape, fingers cautiously tracing the boundaries of Finn's bandage, and Finn arches, hisses in a breath when the heel of Puck's palm presses into the brand. His body confuses pain with pleasure and lights the nerve endings straight to his dick.

"It hurts," Finn admits with a shaky laugh. "Yours?"

Puck's shoulders roll into a shrug, and Finn braces his hands there, feels the muscles rippling beneath his palms. "Guy said leave it the hell alone."

Finn nods. "I am--" His breath hitches when Puck's fingers skim down his torso. "Trying to."

Puck bites the edge of Finn's jaw as his fingers close over Finn's erection. "Was it worth it?"

"Yes," Finn breathes, his legs becoming weak and his breath coming in short, moaned gasps. "Yes."

And once again, he forgets to ask: what does this mean?

~*~

The next day, Finn breaks up with Quinn as gently as he can.

"Is it because I won't have sex with you?" she asks, arms crossed over her chest and her cold eyes daring him to say yes.

"No," Finn says. "It's not about sex." And he means it.

"Then what is it about?"

Finn opens his mouth, closes it, and tries again. "I just don't see us going anywhere," he says in a rush.

Quinn narrows her eyes at him. "That sounds like this is about sex."

"It's not." She stares hard at him. "It's not," he lamely repeats.

"Fine, Finn Hudson. If you can't respect my dedication and my vow to remain celibate, then I don't want to be with you anyway."

Before he can say another word, she turns on her heels and stalks away. Eventually, Finn does as well, and his feet take him to Puck.

He tells Puck, "I broke up with her."

Puck laughs. "Why?"

The words strangle in Finn's throat until he finally pushes out, "I don't know."

~*~

A few weeks later, when he and Puck are fighting again about Finn having to divide his time between football and the glee club, all Finn can think about is how much the raw, partially scabbed skin of his brand itches.

"I'm not quitting glee," he says for the third time or maybe the fourth. He's said it too many times to keep track. He rubs the heel of his palm against the bandage, trying to relieve the itchy, prickled feeling of the brand, his face flushing with heat at Puck's narrow-eyed stare. "Just come to a--" Finn stops himself as Puck interrupts because he recognizes the futility of it.

"Like I want to watch you prance around like a fucking fairy?" Puck retorts.

Finn's eyes narrow, and he clamps his jaw shut, but the words burst free anyway. "And what the hell are we?"

Puck's mouth opens, and he dresses down Finn with an up-down motion of his eyes. "Over."

"Over? When was there ever an _us_ to begin with?!"

Puck storms out of the house without another word, and Finn gapes, trying to retract ... something, a moment, an explanation--Finn shakes his head, slams the door behind Puck and tears off the bandage as if he's breaking his heart free of that square piece of gauze. He scratches the tissue, the relief tingling over his shoulders and chest just before sharp points of pain bloom across his nerve endings. He exhales, lightens the rasp of his nails over the raw skin, but it feels too good to just stop. He tears at the symbol until blood crusts under his nails and slides down his chest.

~*~

The wound becomes an infected mess, and Finn's mom rushes him to the emergency room, her disappointment evident in the sly, slow way she keeps looking at him, her lips curled down into a slight frown and her eyes a little too wide like she's on the verge of crying. The doctor talks about third-degree burns, about how high the risk of infection is, about how lucky Finn is that this isn't something more serious. Finn's only half-listening, winces when the doctor puts antiseptic to his chest, and blanks for the rest of the visit. New bandage, new instructions, and a prescription for antibiotics, and then Finn is finally on his way back home.

He lays on the bed and stares at the ceiling, after having endured a long lecture from his mother, about how being popular isn't worth hurting himself like this, and all he could say was, "I'm sorry," even though he wasn't--couldn't be--not really, and "I love you," which he whole-heartedly meant.

So when his mother raps lightly on the door, he expects another heartfelt talk. When the door opens, however, Puck is the one who walks through.

"You okay?" Puck asks, hovering in the door.

Finn sits up in bed with a slow nod. "Yeah. You?"

"Heard it got infected," Puck says.

Finn nods again, his right hand drifting to his chest. "You?"

Puck shakes his head, laughs, a little too softly and without feeling. "I left it the hell alone."

Finn glances down at the bed. "I--"

"Hey." And then Puck is there, the mattress dipping from his weight as the door clicks shut, and he pulls Finn's hand away from his chest.

"I thought we wer--"

Puck doesn't let him finish; Puck just kisses him, hard and intense, and Finn makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"Puck," he hisses.

"Yeah," Puck says, fingers working at the button and zipper of Finn's jeans. "Gotta keep it quiet, so shut up."

Then Puck's lips silence Finn's protests, if not entirely his gasped, surprised moans of pleasure, and Finn lets all the words die in his throat and just holds on to Puck, his fingers skimming around the bandage, his nails almost, _almost_, tearing at the tape to see.

~*~

When Finn practices for the glee club, the flesh over Finn's heart resists the pull of his muscles. Rachel crosses her arms over her chest after another botched practice, lips pursed into a tight-lipped frown, and she looks at Mr. Schuester. "This just won't do, Mr. Schuester."

So when Mr. Schuester asks Finn to stop by his office, Finn figures he's probably getting benched and shifts restlessly in his chair.

"Finn," Mr. Schuester slowly begins, "I think you should see Ms. Pillsbury."

Finn's brows furrow in confusion. "What for?" Mr. Schuester's gaze flickers to Finn's chest, and Finn follows his gaze. "I don't understand what you're getting at, Mr. Schue."

"It's just a suggestion, Finn, and I'm not forcing you to go, but I think it will help. You might even want to encourage Puck to go with you."

Finn's mouth is about to drop, but he just shakes his head and exhales a nervous laugh. "I still don't--understand what you're getting at, but it's just stupid high school stuff. Gotta make the grade, you know. Can I"--Finn jabs his thumb toward the door--"uh, go now?"

It feels like an eternity has passed before Mr. Schuester gives his nod of assent. Dizzy with relief, Finn shoots out of the chair with a shaky smile.

~*~

Over the course of the next few weeks, Mr. Schuester politely drops several hints about Finn seeing Ms. Pillsbury, but Finn ignores them and avoids Puck as well, the scab of his brand driving him nuts with how much it itches.

When Finn steps outside, he isn't too surprised to see Ms. Pillsbury approach with a kind smile and a quick, "Hello, Finn."

Finn's eyes dart to the left. "Hey, Miss Pillsbury."

"Are you going to win the game for us this Saturday?" she asks.

"Well, it's a team effort," Finn says, "but I'm gonna do my best."

"Hey, buddy." Finn tries not to sigh with relief when Puck's arm drapes over his shoulders. "Got a surprise for ya." He glances at Ms. Pillsbury with a smirk and a smooth, "How's it goin', ma'am?"

"Good, thank you for asking, Puck. And how are you today?"

"Psyched. Got a big game this weekend. Hope you'll cheer us on."

She nods, smiles brightly at both of them, and then politely makes an exit. Puck laughs and plops a hand on top of Finn's head, shaking it from side to side. "Dude, counseling? What are you, a girl?"

"She just said hi," Finn says, pulling out of Puck's grip and glancing behind them to see Ms. Pillsbury looking away.

"What's up with you?"

Finn turns to see Puck eyeing him critically, and he shrugs with a, "Nothing. Is your"--Finn gestures to Puck's chest--"okay?"

Puck grins as he rubs a hand over his chest, voice dropping low when he takes a step forward. "You wanna see it?"

Finn stares at Puck skeptically. "Where?"

"Wherever." Pucks drops his arm across Finn's shoulder. "Come on."

'Where' happens to be the back of Puck's car in an isolated corner of the parking lot. Finn's left hand clenches around the headrest of the passenger seat, his right hand rubbing the back of Puck's head.

"Puck," Finn gasps in warning, hips jerking forward when Puck's tongue licks over the head of his dick, and he thinks, maybe Quinn _was_ right, and this _is_ just about the sex--

Puck doesn't let up, just lashes the crown of Finn's erection with his tongue until Finn bites his fist to stifle his cries, eyes rolling up into his head as he lightly thrusts, his whole body shuddering at the sensation of Puck's mouth.

\--but Finn doesn't want to believe that it is.

~*~

It's days before Finn gets to see the progress of Puck's brand, and it keloids beautifully, his skin forming the arches and circles of the brand like a tattoo. Against Puck's tanned skin, the symbol stands out, crisp and solid.

Finn's fingers hover over it, and he traces air, imagining the texture of the bright red scar. Puck steps into his hand, and it feels--It's smoother than Finn thought it would be. The tips of his fingers glide down the line intersecting the arrow-shaped body of what still looks like a turtle to him, except without the top legs, but when Finn tilts his head, the brand vaguely takes the shape of a heart.

"Do you ... ?" Finn outlines the half circle at the top of the body.

"What?"

"Do you feel anything?"

Puck shrugs. "Not really."

"Oh." And Finn lifts his hand away from Puck's skin.

Puck's hand closes over Finn's and brings it back to his chest. "Still got feeling around it," he says, voice husky.

So Finn tests it, first with the tips of his fingers and then his tongue until he makes Puck forget. For a breathless moment, they both do.

~*~

The next week, when Finn's brand is finally starting to heal, some of the scabbed tissue falling off on its own to reveal the bright red scarring beneath, he pushes Puck's hands away. "I can't do this."

"Do what?" Puck asks, stepping into his space.

Finn shakes his head. "I don't even know anymore." Finn motions a hand between them, looking Puck baldly in the eyes as he asks, "What is this? What are we? And is it going anywhere?"

Puck's mouth cracks into a smile, and he gives Finn a look that Finn recognizes but doesn't want to identify. It makes his heart race as his fingers curl into his palms and the muscles in his shoulders tense. "Are you--"

"Don't," Finn says softly.

"What are you talking about?"

Finn takes a step back. "Okay." He slowly nods with another, "Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Why'd you do it?" Finn asks.

Puck arches a brow. "Do what? You're being stupid again, Finn." Finn jabs his finger into Puck's chest, in the center of the brand, and he's startled to feel Puck's hand close over his finger. "Same reason you did."

Finn shakes his head. "I don't think so--"

"Yeah," Puck says. "For you." Finn tries to pull his hand away, but Puck holds fast to it.

"Then why isn't it enough?" Finn asks, searching Puck's eyes.

"I'm not a mind reader--"

"Why do you keep riding my ass about glee? Why not Quinn or Susan or--" Finn stops when Puck gives him a look.

"Maybe you need to see Miss Pillsbury," Puck says with a smirk.

"I shouldn't have done it," Finn says and jerks his finger back. "Not for you--"

Puck's expression hardens. "Yeah, for me."

"What? So you can pretend--"

"I wasn't pretending. I was never pretending."

"What does it even mean? How tough you are? How cool?"

"I'm yours," Puck says.

Finn just stares at him.

"I'm not making any apologies," Puck says. "I'm yours, Finn. That's never changed. _You_ did, and you ... ."

Finn doesn't know what to say, his mouth open and his eyes startled and wide.

Puck shakes his head. "Whatever. Have fun with the losers."

When Puck walks away, when it's just Finn standing alone on the field, Finn thinks he should have said yes.

~*~

The next day, he's not sure how Ms. Pillsbury manages to convince him to stop by her office for a visit. He expects her to talk about the brand, about deep emotional issues kind of stuff, but she just asks about college applications and some football scholarships that she thinks he should apply for.

"You have a bright future, Finn," she says, and Finn actually believes she means it. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"

"Not really," Finn mutters, eyes shifting to her desk. "Look, I know Mr. Schuester's probably been talking about ... stuff, but I don't know what he's talking about."

"Well, neither do I."

"Wait." Finn looks up. "You two haven't talked about this brand thing?"

Ms. Pillsbury shakes her head. "Do you want to talk about it? I heard it got infected. Is it healing well?"

"Yeah. I mean, yeah, it's healing well."

"That was a dangerous thing to do, but I can understand why you did it."

Finn shakes his head because he can't even understand why he'd done it.

"Our high school friends are so important to us because we give as much of ourselves as we can to them, and because we do, they're often the ones who hurt us most. We trust them, even when they might not always have our best interests in mind."

Finn nods. "Solidarity, team spirit," he says, vaguely referring to the brand.

"But you're recovering, Finn."

Finn nods again with a, "Yeah." And then, it's like something clicks into place, and his fingers graze over his shirt, and he gets it; he gets it. "I didn't get bullied into it."

Ms. Pillsbury gives him a small smile. "I didn't think you had."

"Thanks, Ms. Pillsbury."

"You're welcome, Finn, and don't forget about those scholarship applications."

"I won't."

~*~

Finn tries to call Puck, but Puck ignores his phone calls for two days before Finn decides to drive to Puck's place and bang on the door.

"Damn it! What do you want?" Puck demands when he yanks open the door, glaring at Finn.

Finn pushes his way inside before Puck can slam the door in his face. "We need to talk."

"Go talk to the counselor," Puck says, motioning out the open door.

Finn forces the door shut. "Me and you."

Puck's arms flex as he crosses his arms over his chest. "About?"

"Us."

Puck stares at him, and then just bursts into laughter. "You really are a loser."

"It's not what anyone thinks," Finn says, ignoring the remark, which has no heat, and taking a step closer to Puck, which does.

"Not what?"

"Abuse." And Finn closes his mouth over Puck's, shoving him into the wall, and he can feel Puck's brand beneath his palm.

"You're nuts," Puck says, pushing Finn away.

"There's an us," Finn says. He caresses the brand through Puck's shirt. "This proves it." He looks up into Puck's dark eyes. "Say it." With his jaw set, Puck narrows his eyes at Finn. Finn's fingers clench in Puck's shirt, and he shifts his left hand down to cup Puck and press his palm against Puck's groin, but it's not a threatening gesture, not with the way his fingers curl under and his thumb strokes the growing bulge in Puck's jeans. "Say yes." Finn eyes the line of tension in Puck's jaw, the roll of Puck's shoulder muscles no doubt moving to push Finn away, but Finn presses harder, against the brand and against Puck's lengthening erection, and he gets into Puck's face, a breath away from Puck's lips, and repeats, "Say yes."

Puck remains so still; there's just the rise and fall of his chest, the angry flare of his nostrils, and then the tension bleeds out, and Finn thinks, _Yes_, just as Puck echoes it. "Yes," like a promise, and Finn's not sure why he's never noticed that before--Puck's fear, Puck's need--but he notices it now, knows that Puck is his as he slips his hand beneath Puck's shirt to curl his fingers over the brand--the faint heart-shaped feel to it, the strange smoothness of the scar compared to the rest of Puck's skin.

Finn kisses Puck hard, because that's what Puck wants--it's what Puck needs right now--and he bites at Puck's bottom lip, dragging his palm down until Puck shudders, hands clenching around Finn's waist.

"Are your parents home?" Finn mumbles against Puck's mouth.

Puck laughs with a shake of his head. "Little late to be asking."

"Your room," Finn says, and Puck smirks.

Only when Finn takes a step back does the air feel chilled against his skin, and he follows Puck upstairs, locks the door to his friend's room and smashes his lips against Puck's again, hands fumbling at Puck's jeans until he can reach inside to wrap his fingers around Puck's cock, hot and eager, just like Puck's groan. Finn squeezes it, and then pushes Puck onto the bed, yanking off Puck's clothes until he's naked, sprawled out, skin flushed and waiting, and that brand--bright red and beautiful, a mark, a declaration. Finn tosses off his clothes and slides over Puck, so he can kiss that brand, still smooth against his lips, his tongue, even the slick abrasion of his teeth.

Puck moans, "Yes," like a mantra as he arches up, rubbing his cock against Finn's stomach while simultaneously tugging hard at Finn's shirt.

Finn shudders when Puck's fingers graze his brand. He drops his head, his tongue following the curves and lines of Puck's brand, Puck's cologne a bitter aftertaste on his palate, but beneath that, just Puck--sweat and masculinity and heat. Finn half shoves at his jeans and underwear, and Puck's hands are there to help, to at least push them down past his hips, but Puck is tumbling over him, pushing him into the bed and jerking off Finn's shoes and socks, tugging hard on the hem of Finn's jeans until they're finally off. Then Finn rolls, and there's a breath-hitching, heart fluttering moment when Finn thinks they're going to tumble right off the bed, but their bodies somehow manage to sink close to the edge without falling. They shift closer to the center of the bed again and both moan at the contact of their cocks rubbing against bare skin, and Finn drops his head for a kiss that Puck dominates by thrusting his tongue into Finn's mouth and arching up into Finn's body for more friction. Finn's pushing, shoving and grinding his hips down, his cock nestled perfectly in the juncture of Puck's hip and torso and sliding against sweat slick skin.

Finn arches up, groans deep and low at the new angle, still perfect, the drag of Puck's skin against the head of his dick, and he plants a hand on Puck's chest, his fingers becoming mountain points as he digs them into Puck's brand. Puck's spine bows, shoving Finn's palm against the brand, and Finn glances down and chokes on a gasp. Finn watches Puck fist his own cock with quick, tight jerks, eyes tightly shut, his knuckles rubbing lines into Finn's thigh. Puck inhales, exhales, his breath becoming ragged and strangled, and Finn can feel Puck's brand pulse against his hand, can feel the rapid beat of Puck's heart infusing it with heat and making it real and alive and searing the sensation of it into Finn's open palm.

With a loud cry, Finn climaxes, back bowing, fingers scrabbling against Puck's chest and finding purchase in the grooves of Puck's brand, and through the ringing in his ears, he can hear the hiss of Puck's, "Yes, yes, yes."

Slicking his hand with his come, Finn pries away Puck's hand and replaces it with his own, pumping fast and tight, working in tandem with Puck's thrusting hips until he breaks, and it's--Finn just watches the color spread through Puck's cheeks, Puck's lips parting on a pant and his muscles trembling with a shiver as he spills wet and hot over Finn's fingers. Puck's hand shoots out to tightly grip Finn's wrist and stop the up-down motion of his fist, and he blows out a breath, finally opening his eyes.

Puck smirks, and Finn ignores it by lowering his head to Puck's chest and rubbing his cheek against the brand, soft and damp against his skin. They're silent for a long time, catching their breaths, the last shivers of their orgasms rolling through them, and Finn's lips find the brand again and again.

Finally, when it feels like they're almost about to just fall asleep, Finn stirs and asks, "So what does this symbol stand for anyway?"

"It's nothing," Puck murmurs, voice heavy and thick as his shoulders lift into what Finn guesses is supposed to be a shrug. "Just some African symbol the guy had in his book. Looked cool."

Finn lets it drop, like his hand to Puck's chest tracing over the brand.

What Finn later discovers is that it means everything--the symbol, Puck, the way their skin will always carry what's in their hearts. It means everything: love never loses its way home. Puck probably didn't even know.

So when they meet, wherever, their fingers lightly tracing over each other's heart, Finn knows: it's not just about sex. And means it.


End file.
